Features

Budget 2026: The Emperor’s new clothes

Published

11 months ago

2025/11/23

There’s an old saying in politics: it’s easier to criticize from the opposition benches than to govern from the cabinet. President Anura Kumara Dissanayake’s 2025 & 2026 budget presentations have proven this adage with stunning, almost theatrical precision. What we witnessed was not merely disappointing policy documents, they were masterclass in political amateurism, economic illiteracy, and brazen historical revisionism that should alarm every serious observer of Sri Lankan governance.

Audacious attempt

Let’s begin with the most glaring intellectual fraud: AKD’s audacious attempt to claim credit for economic stabilization he actively sabotaged. As an opposition politician, he was the loudest voice denouncing the IMF program as a “sellout of national sovereignty” and a “neo-colonial agreement.” He mobilized protests, inflamed public anger, and positioned himself as he stood firmly against the very cost-cutting, revenue focused and foreign reserves building policies that later helped save Sri Lanka from complete economic collapse.

Now, as President, he speaks solemnly of guiding “complex negotiations” to completion, as if he were the architect rather than the arsonist. This isn’t political evolution; it’s political amnesia of the most cynical variety. The IMF Extended Fund Facility that stabilized our foreign reserves, the debt standstill that preserved our scant remaining dollars, the painful tax reforms that rebuilt government revenue, every single pillar of our current stability was constructed by the Wickremesinghe administration while AKD threw rhetorical Molotov cocktails from the sidelines.

To now claim stewardship of this recovery is like a man who spent years vandalizing a bridge suddenly demanding applause for finally allowing people to cross it. It reveals something far more troubling than ordinary political opportunism, it suggests a leader fundamentally disconnected from the consequences of his own words and actions.

The highway hypocrite’s

new road map

When the budget speech turned to infrastructure, it delivered one of its most puzzling moments, full of contradictions that left many scratching their heads. Here was a man whose political party built its reputation on obstructing every major development project in recent memory, filing fundamental rights cases against the Central Expressway, leading protests against Port City, framing highways as “corrupt, debt-trapping ventures that served only the elite to transport Embul Thiyal” (of course corruption not only on highways but also on Nelum kuluna, Mattala airport, Mahinda Rajapaksa International Cricket Stadium Weerawila, without matches, etc., in previous governments by SLPP and UNP as well, should be handled separately), now waxing poetic about connectivity and the economic potential of national infrastructure.

This is not merely hypocrisy; it’s historical theft. The JVP’s legacy on infrastructure is one of delay, increased costs, and mindless obstructionism dressed up as environmental concern or anti-corruption zeal. Engineers and project managers spent more time in courtrooms defending legitimate projects than they did on construction sites, thanks to the very party AKD led.

Now he stands before us as a modernizer? A builder? He’s neither. He’s a squatter who moved into a completed house and is pointing at the foundation claiming he mixed the cement. The sheer audacity would be impressive if it weren’t so insulting to the intelligence of anyone with a functional memory.

Amateur hour on fiscal policy

Beyond the historical revisionism, the actual policy content of the budget reveals a disturbing lack of economic sophistication. The government inherited a clear, IMF-mandated path: achieve a primary surplus of 2.3% of GDP, broaden the tax base, control expenditure, and reform loss-making state enterprises. These aren’t suggestions, their contractual obligations with international creditors.

The budget “appears to be betting on increased revenue from economic growth to fill the gap, a risky strategy that presumes growth will be robust and immediate. That’s not a plan, it’s magical thinking, as he claimed it by himself. These kinds of ideas don’t rescue countries from debt; they push them further in. The IMF demanded “better-targeted social safety nets to reduce fiscal drains,” and instead we got expanded, poorly targeted handouts that directly contradict the program’s core philosophy.

AKD wants the credit for stability without enduring the pain of maintaining it. He wants to be seen as generous to the people while locked into tight spending rules. The result is a budget that satisfies neither the IMF’s demands nor the public’s genuine needs, the worst of both worlds.

The ghost of SOE reform

The budget’s treatment of SOE reform? Vague references to “restructuring” and finding “strategic partners” with no concrete timelines, no financial targets, no clear frameworks, and critically, no mention of depoliticizing board appointments. This is the language of someone who knows what he should do but lacks the spine to do it.

The tax complexity trap

The budget’s approach to taxation reveals the same pattern of intellectual incoherence. While making minor adjustments to tax brackets, the government introduced a “complex array of tax holidays and concessions for specific sectors like technology, agriculture, and exports.” This is precisely backwards.

The IMF program, which AKD now claims to champion, requires simplification and broadening of the tax base. Instead, we ended up with a flood of special exemptions that “creates a complex and non-neutral tax system” that “distorts investment decisions, opens avenues for lobbying and corruption, and ultimately narrows the tax base, the exact opposite of what the IMF program requires.”

This isn’t sophisticated economic policy, it’s the work of someone confusing activity with achievement, someone who thinks complexity equals competence. Any first-year economics student understands that tax neutrality and simplicity are foundations of good policy. But AKD’s budget reads like it was designed by a committee trying to please every special interest that lobbied them.

The broken promise parade

And then there’s the immediate retreat from core campaign promises. AKD rode to power partly on the pledge to “remove the oppressive VAT on essential items” like medicines, educational materials, and food imports. This was his answer to the public’s pain, his differentiation from the “neoliberal” policies he condemned.

The reality? “Minor, symbolic VAT exemptions for a very narrow list of specific goods” while the budget speech emphasized the “critical need to preserve government revenue streams to maintain the primary surplus.” In other words, once in power, the constraints of the IMF program, that program he called neo-colonial, became gospel. The promise-maker became the promise-breaker within months.

This isn’t pragmatism; it’s a bait-and-switch. The public was sold one vision and delivered another, with barely an acknowledgment of the pivot. It demonstrates what happens when populist rhetoric meets fiscal reality: rhetoric dies, but the trust also dies with it.

The transparency deficit

For a nation that recently defaulted on its debt, transparency should be the watchword of every budget presentation. International creditors and domestic investors alike need granular detail on debt restructuring progress, contingent liabilities from SOEs, and the government’s medium-term fiscal strategy.

Instead, we got “a high-level overview of debt obligations” that “lacked granular detail on the progress of restructuring negotiations with commercial and bilateral creditors beyond China.” For someone claiming to be steering the ship, AKD seems remarkably uninterested in showing us the map. This opacity “leaves room for speculation and undermines the market confidence the budget seeks to foster.”

In a properly managed economy, budgets are opportunities to build confidence through disclosure. In AKD’s amateur production, the budget raises more questions than it answers, suggesting either incompetence in communication or deliberate obfuscation, neither of which inspires confidence

Double cab controversy

The NPP government’s procurement of 1,775 brand-new double cab pickup trucks isn’t merely fiscal recklessness; it’s a textbook example of Marxist-Leninist party machinery consolidation masquerading as administrative reform. What we’re witnessing is the JVP’s instinctive reversion to authoritarian patterns of control, patronage distribution, and ideological uniformity that defined every failed socialist experiment of the 20th century.

“Any Car You Want, as Long as It’s a Lada”

Remember the old Soviet joke? Citizens could have any car they wanted, as long as it was a Lada! The JVP government has imported this mentality wholesale. By mandating identical, government-issued vehicles for all representatives, they’re imposing uniformity that has nothing to do with efficiency and everything to do with control.

This isn’t about transportation logistics. It’s about establishing a visible, material symbol of party dominance, a fleet of identical vehicles, all bearing government plates, all procured through party-controlled processes, all distributed as rewards for political loyalty. In the socialist playbook, such standardization serves dual purposes: it demonstrates state power over individual choice while creating dependency chains that bind recipients to the regime.

The timing exposes the real motive. With local government bodies now dominated by NPP/JVP cadres following recent electoral victories, this massive procurement functions as the material foundation for party entrenchment. These 1,775 vehicles aren’t transportation solutions, they’re instruments of political consolidation, distributed to party cadres across the country, binding them through material dependence on the central apparatus.

This is classic Leninist democratic centralism adapted for 21st-century Sri Lanka: concentrate resources at party headquarters, distribute them as patronage, demand loyalty in return. The double cabs become party property in all but name, with recipients understanding that continued access depends on continued allegiance.

Tender that wasn’t: Rigging for comrades

The procurement process itself reads like a manual on how to fake competition while ensuring predetermined outcomes. The standard 42-day National Competitive Bidding window compressed to 12 days. Eligibility criteria so specific they could name the beneficiaries outright: 10 years of experience, 1,000 vehicles delivered, 10 service centers, Rs. 10 billion turnover, Rs. 50 million security deposit. This isn’t incompetence, it’s competent corruption. The JVP spent decades in opposition studying how power works. Now, they’re applying those lessons with the efficiency of apparatchiks who know exactly what they’re doing. The tender was designed not to find the best value for taxpayers but to channel public money to connected entities while maintaining plausible deniability.

When confronted, the government deploys classic bureaucratic deflection: the Ministry of Public Security claims ignorance, the Treasury points elsewhere, officials become unreachable. This shell game is straight from the authoritarian playbook, diffuse responsibility so thoroughly that accountability becomes impossible.

Fiscal suicide as ideological statement

The economy is deliberately destructive. Under the permit system, government bore only duty exemption costs, essentially foregone revenue. MPs purchased, maintained, insured, and fueled their vehicles. Personal ownership created natural incentives for care and cost-consciousness.

The new system socializes every cost: purchase, maintenance, insurance, fuel, depreciation, bureaucratic overhead, estimated at Rs. 2-3 billion annually beyond the initial Rs. 12.5 billion. This isn’t just wasteful; it’s ideologically driven waste. JVP’s Marxist DNA recoils from private ownership and individual autonomy. It is better to waste billions on centralized control than allow the “bourgeois” efficiency of personal responsibility.

The government’s claim that MPs “exploited” permits by selling them is intellectually fraudulent. If an MP monetized their permit and used alternative transport, they saved taxpayers maintenance and fuel costs. The permit represented the government’s contribution, what MPs did with it was their choice. That’s called individual autonomy, and to Marxists, it’s a bug, not a feature.

Now, taxpayers fund everything while MPs enjoy government transport. We’ve moved from potential individual benefit to guaranteed collective loss. This is socialism in practice: equal distribution of scarcity, inefficiency, and dependence.

The authoritarian creep

The most chilling aspect isn’t financial, it’s philosophical. Democratic pluralism respects that a representative from mountainous terrain might need different transport than one from Colombo. That an MP might prefer a fuel-efficient hybrid over a diesel guzzler. These choices reflect democratic diversity and individual judgment.

The JVP’s “one vehicle fits all” mandate reveals their authoritarian core. Uniformity. Conformity. Central control. When the state dictates even the vehicle you must drive, it signals a broader tendency toward control extending far beyond logistics into political culture itself. This is the Marxist impulse toward totality, the belief that rational planning from the center produces better outcomes than distributed individual choices. Every socialist regime has started here: standardizing the visible, the material, the daily interactions of life, conditioning citizens to accept state dictation as normal.

The 1,775 question: Building the party state

Why exactly 1,775 vehicles? The government’s vague references to “government institutions” don’t withstand scrutiny. Parliament has 225 members. Provincial councils and local bodies add more, but 1,775?

The number makes sense only as party machinery consolidation. With NPP/JVP now controlling local government, these vehicles flow to party cadres at every level, not just elected officials but party operatives, provincial organizers, local committee members.

This is building a party state where material resources flow through party channels, creating dependency networks that strengthen central control. This is textbook Leninist organization: a vanguard party maintaining discipline through material distribution, ensuring loyalty through access to state resources. The double cabs aren’t transportation; they’re the physical infrastructure of single-party dominance.

The road to ruin

Sri Lanka faces resumed debt repayments in 2028 requiring USD 13 billion in foreign reserves. The rupee crisis persists. Revenue surges from import duties are temporary bubbles. In this context, wasting Rs. 12,500+ million on unnecessary vehicles while committing billions more in recurring costs is fiscal suicide.

But for the JVP, ideology trumps economics. Building party infrastructure, demonstrating state power, imposing uniformity, these matter more than fiscal responsibility. This is the socialist calculation: political consolidation now, regardless of economic consequences later.

The people who voted for change deserve better than a fleet of pickup trucks purchased through rigged tenders, financed by their taxes, distributed as party favors. They deserve a government that respects democratic norms, fiscal responsibility, and the principle that public resources belong to the public, not to party machinery.

If this procurement proceeds, it confirms that Sri Lanka has exchanged one corrupt system for another, this time with Marxist characteristics. The double cabs will roll through our streets as mobile monuments to authoritarian creep, fiscal irresponsibility, and the JVP’s transformation from revolutionary opposition to just another party of power, patronage, and control.

That road leads only to ruin, fiscal, political, and moral. The question is whether Sri Lankans will recognize the danger before the consolidation becomes irreversible.

The Verdict: All Hat, No Cattle

The 2026 budget is not a document of reform, it’s a document of retreat disguised as pragmatism, of opportunism masquerading as statesmanship. It represents the collision between campaign fantasy and governing reality, and in that collision, what’s been destroyed is not just a set of promises but the credibility of a leader who appears to believe his own revisionist history.

Economic policy isn’t performance art. The budget reveals a leader out of his depth, surrounded by the very institutions and agreements he spent years undermining, now desperately trying to claim credit for their success while simultaneously diluting their effectiveness with populist gestures.

The greatest danger isn’t that this budget is bad, though it is. The greatest danger is that it reveals a governing philosophy built entirely on political expedience rather than economic principle. When a leader’s positions are infinitely flexible, when his rhetoric today contradicts his rhetoric yesterday without acknowledgment, when claiming credit matters more than creating value, the nation is left confused/lost.

Sri Lanka deserves better than a chameleon in the Finance Ministry. We deserve leaders who remember their own words, who acknowledge the foundations they inherited, and who have the courage to make unpopular decisions when necessary, rather than wrapping retreat in the language of reform.

The emperor’s new budget, like the Emperor’s new clothes, is a fiction sustained only by our collective willingness to pretend we don’t see the naked truth.

by Dr. Chandana Samarawickreme

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Features

Coercive laws recipe for future misrule

Published

21 hours ago

2026/10/13

Sahan Weerasooriya

by Jehan Perera

The NPP government is going after powerful figures from the past and present who have engaged in corruption, fraud and criminal activity in a way that no previous government in Sri Lanka has done. Former ministers, politicians and senior state officials are among those facing investigations and legal proceedings. The government has placed before Parliament a document listing 50 cases involving corruption, fraud and other crimes. These include not only financial offences but also cases relating to the Easter Sunday attacks, the killings of Lasantha Wickrematunge and Wasim Thajudeen, the disappearance of Prageeth Ekneligoda and attacks on journalists Keith Noyahr and Upali Tennakoon.

The significance of this effort is that it can demonstrate that nobody is above the law, regardless of political connections or social standing, which will help restore public confidence in institutions that have long been distrusted. It could also recover public resources, improve the investment climate and strengthen the foundations for a more prosperous and just Sri Lanka. When criticised for focusing on the past and not the present, the government position is that these investigations were initiated under earlier governments, particularly between 2015 and 2019, and that it is now allowing investigators to proceed to deal with the backlog without political interference.

But there is an aspect of the government’s approach that is less justifiable. While pursuing past wrongdoing by powerful individuals, it is also advancing a triumvirate of draft laws that could give the state sweeping powers over citizens, organisations and dissent in the present and future. The draft Prevention of Terrorism legislation, the Prevention of Organised Crimes Bill and the NGO Registration and Supervision Bill raise serious questions about the over-centralisation of power. Each of these laws strengthens the powers of the state while weakening the rights and safeguards that protect people from their misuse and thus questions the basic rights of people in democracy where ‘the power of the people is vested in the government’. This is a recipe for future misrule rather than the rule of law. As the well-known saying goes, power corrupts and absolute power corrupts absolutely.

Proposed Laws

The real test of system change, for which the government obtained an overwhelming mandate, requires not only a government willing to hold others accountable, but one prepared to subject itself to the same principles of legality, transparency and restraint. The three proposed laws that are particularly important in this regard are the Protection of the State from Terrorism Bill, the Prevention of Organised Crimes Bill and the NGO Registration and Supervision Bill. Each of these draft laws has been presented as serving a legitimate purpose. Preventing terrorism, combating organised crime and ensuring that NGOs do not facilitate money laundering or terrorist financing are proper responsibilities of the state. Sri Lanka has international obligations in these areas, and no responsible government can disregard them. However, the existence of a legitimate objective does not justify every means adopted to achieve it.

The proposed Protection of the State from Terrorism Bill illustrates the problem. Although its definition of terrorism draws on a model developed by a former United Nations Special Rapporteur, the Human Rights Commission of Sri Lanka has warned that the definition of terrorism extends beyond the model and could bring legitimate political protest, trade union action and civil disobedience within the scope of counter-terrorism legislation. Its concerns also include prolonged detention, inadequate judicial oversight and restrictions on access to legal counsel. These are objections that go to the heart of the relationship between the citizen and the state. The government cannot credibly promise to protect democratic freedoms while creating powers that could be used to restrict them. It is necessary for the government to reassess the draft through transparent consultation and revise provisions that could criminalise legitimate dissent.

The Prevention of Organised Crimes Bill raises similar concerns. It is presented as giving effect to the United Nations Convention against Transnational Organised Crime, which Sri Lanka ratified in 2006. The Centre for Policy Alternatives (CPA) has argued that the convention does not require many of the bill’s provisions. The proposed law extends to a broad range of offences, permits detention orders lasting up to a year, makes confessions to police admissible for purposes of legal evidence, and introduces extensive surveillance powers. A law intended to dismantle criminal networks should not create a parallel system of exceptional powers that could be applied far beyond organised crime. Nor should safeguards developed through years of experience with abuses under the Prevention of Terrorism Act be weakened through legislation bearing a different name. The government should review whether or not existing laws could be used effectively to control these crimes or whether each exceptional power is necessary.

Civil Society

The proposed NGO Registration and Supervision Bill presents another test of the government’s intentions. The government may reasonably seek transparency in the finances of organisations receiving public or foreign funds, including measures to prevent money laundering and terrorist financing. It seeks to justify its overreach on the grounds of meeting the internationally mandated requirements of the Financial Action Task Force (FATF) for the Asia-Pacific region. But these objectives do not justify placing civil society and NGOs under excessive administrative control when even the FATF ranks them as low to medium risks. The draft bill would require registration and renewal, impose extensive obligations on organisations and empower authorities to suspend or deregister them on broadly framed grounds. It is important to redraft provisions that confer excessive discretion over registration, renewal, suspension and deregistration of NGOs.

Among the concerns raised by United Nations human rights special rapporteurs with regard to the draft NGO law are provisions requiring organisations to align with government policies and restrictions that could affect advocacy, dissent and freedom of association. The implications extend well beyond organisations that engage directly with the government. Community groups, human rights organisations, independent researchers and organisations working on reconciliation or accountability could find their activities constrained by uncertainty over how these provisions might be interpreted. Organisations that criticise government policies are not thereby working against the country. Their freedom to do so is part of what distinguishes a democracy from a system in which the government determines which opinions and activities are acceptable.

The government has generated considerable public goodwill through its pursuit of corruption and criminality. It should not assume that this goodwill gives it an unlimited mandate to strengthen the coercive powers of the state. The NPP knows from its own history that governments can treat dissent as a threat and use the machinery of the state against their opponents. There is still time to correct the drafts through transparent public consultation, narrow definitions of offences, meaningful judicial control over detention and surveillance, and effective remedies against arbitrary decisions. A government that pursues corruption while weakening safeguards against state abuse risks undermining its own achievements. Besides bringing to light the abuse of power by previous governments, the NPP government needs to build a system in which no future government can abuse power in the belief they can get away with it.

Features

Quality assurance without quality enhancement: The irony of university QA

Published

21 hours ago

2026/10/13

Sahan Weerasooriya

By Ramya Kumar

According to the Quality Assurance Council (QAC) of the University Grants Commission (UGC), quality assurance (QA) refers to “the means (i.e. the policies, attitudes, actions, procedures, etc.), by which an institution can guarantee with confidence and certainty, that the standards and quality of its educational provision are being maintained and enhanced”.

An expansive structure has been in place since 2005 to govern and implement QA processes within the state university system. The QAC is the focal point at the UGC that implements external reviews of state universities and institutes. Each university has its own Centre for Quality Assurance (CQA) tasked with performing QA in line with QAC directives. Faculties, in turn, have Internal Quality Assurance Cells (IQAC) performing their own QA; they are answerable to the CQA.

The big question is whether this all-encompassing top-down QA system, that in many ways undermines the internal dynamics of university governance, actually supports universities to enhance the quality of education. This article highlights some concerns.

Top-down check-box activities

The QAC conducts external reviews of universities and degree programmes. A review team appointed by the UGC (who may or may not have experience in the institution/programme in question) examines the self-evaluation report submitted by the said institution/programme. The team then conducts a site visit to verify the claims made in the university’s self-evaluation report, clarify issues identified during the desk review, and examine how QA procedures operate in practice. The team holds meetings with the university administration, members of the Council and Senate, Deans, Heads of Departments, academic and non-academic staff, students, and others. Following the visit, a draft report is submitted to the relevant institution/programme for comment before final publication. The reviewed institution/programme then prepares and publishes an action plan addressing the recommendations, with subsequent monitoring of progress.

There are some worthy QA initiatives under implementation, such as improving facilities for students with disabilities and strengthening mechanisms to address sexual- and gender-based violence. However, for the most part, QA activities have little to do with improving the quality of education. They are mostly preoccupied with monitoring faculty and department websites, digital transformation, student feedback, subject evaluation, course evaluation, peer evaluation, and, more recently, staff appraisal. These activities, which consume an inordinate amount of time—so precious at understaffed universities—have become check-box activities completed to generate evidence for the next review. Below is an excerpt of a conversation between two academics (1 and 2) that conveys how QA plays out at universities (reproduced with permission).

1: … .it’s like social media you know, like posting things on Facebook or twitter or Instagram. When people do a lot of social media, everything they do, they do thinking, “okay I’m going to post it in this way… this I have to put on my Instagram.” QA is a little like that… everything is considered in light of, “ah we can use this for the review, as evidence… for example very recently we were encouraged to have all the things that we do in our department in the faculty newsletter so then they can put in the review. Every little thing has to be noted down….

2: And with pictures and all…

1: At the very least it has to be written so that you have written evidence .. you can’t be doing something for the sake of doing something or because it is good for the department … and sometimes people tell me “oh yea that’s a good idea we can fit that under this x, y section of the review..”

2: Yea, and nobody really thinks about the actual outcome… whether it’s actually helping anyone..

1: I also find that a lot of the words that we used in different ways have now been co-opted to the QA discourse ..including quality.. I can’t actually say what I want as an “outcome”, for example, that the outcome of this workshop is that my students “think about” … then I am told “ah but no that’s not one of the Bloom’s taxonomy words, “think about”.…

2: And the worst part is these medical and agriculture people, these types of people go around spreading it like some kind of gospel!

1: Yea, this cookie cutter way of doing things, they think is the height of innovativeness or creativity, when actually it is so mundane … for me the most awful thing about it is like some fungus of mundanity has taken over through QA reviews.

2: yea, when you say QA, my mind closes off immediately and I stop listening…

Auditing everything but power

QA leaves out crucial aspects of university governance. For instance, there is no review or assessment of the “quality” of university administrations under Criterion 1 or the integrity of procedures governing the promotion of academic staff under Criterion 6 of the institutional reviews.

The majority in the Council—the university’s executive and governing body, which is responsible for selecting the Vice-Chancellor (VC)—are appointed in ad hoc fashion. Apart from the Ex-Officio members in the Council (VC, Deans, etc.), and the two members elected by the Senate, the remainder are appointed by the UGC with no formal consultation or vetting procedure. The VC appointment process described in UGC Circular No. 03/2023 exemplifies how an ostensibly technical process can become entangled in political sycophancy. The Registrar invites applications for the position of VC through advertisement. Applicants must submit a curriculum vitae, a statement of vision for the university and supporting documents. The University Council appoints a three-member Search Committee of senior academics to encourage “eminent persons” to apply, while the UGC appoints a former VC from another university to “observe” the selection process.

A Special Meeting of the University Council is convened. Candidates are interviewed and must make a presentation to the Council Members, followed by questions. Each Council member “gives marks” for seven prescribed criteria: strategic focus (20%), effective leadership (20%), holistic thinking/conceptual skills (10%), academic and research excellence (15%), personal integrity (10%), professional communication (10%) and managerial competence (15%). Marks are averaged, and the Council recommends three candidates to the UGC in rank order. The UGC-appointed observer separately submits a confidential report on the selection process.

This procedure is expected to guarantee quality, but does it? Applications are submitted to the Council Members, who have been appointed on questionable bases, and who are expected to review the applications and give scores, based on objective assessments. But, in reality, most Council Members are manipulated by VC candidates, who often have personal ties with them. The UGC-appointed observer usually has no genuine interest in the outcome. And there is no way for anyone to actually question the Council’s decision once it is made. Although the highest-ranked candidate may ultimately be appointed, the selection remains a political decision made by the President, who retains the discretion to appoint any one of the three.

External reviews also do not look into the promotions of academic staff, except to scrutinise whether there are policies and procedures in place to govern promotion. Academic staff may apply for promotion to Professor once they satisfy the prescribed eligibility requirements, which typically include the period of service, academic qualifications, research and publication achievements, teaching experience, and contributions to the university and wider community. Applications are evaluated against specified criteria, with research output and academic contributions assessed through documentary evidence and expert evaluation. Under the UGC’s scheme for Professors, two experts from outside the applicant’s institution assess specified aspects of research and knowledge dissemination. Again, beneath this technical process, which is externally evaluated, lies a problematic points-based scheme that can be manipulated and abused with impunity.

Rethinking university QA

Like the VC election process and the schemes of promotion for academic staff, QA reviews are open to manipulation. Before a review, there is a chaotic rush to complete evidence gathering and reporting. Academics leave all other work aside, including at times their teaching, to focus on completing documentation and preparing reports. The standardised criteria in the review manuals and scoring sheets often do not reflect differences in disciplines and institutional contexts. But this does not really matter because any serious problems experienced by institutions or programmes are hastily brushed under the carpet to conceal any evidence that could taint the review. The goal is to obtain an A or at least a B grade at whatever cost.

QA may result in positive change if it moves beyond top-down check-box activities towards internally designed and owned processes encompassing all aspects of university governance, led by departments and faculties, and supported by adequate resources. The current QA system needs to be dismantled and replaced by procedures that are accountable, not to the UGC, but to our students and the communities we serve.

(Ramya Kumar is attached to the Department of Community and Family Medicine, Faculty of Medicine, University of Jaffna)

. Kuppi is a politics and pedagogy happening on the margins of the lecture hall that parodies, subverts, and simultaneously reaffirms social hierarchies.

Features

Down Memory Lane — the Grand 20th Edition!

Published

21 hours ago

2026/10/13

Sahan Weerasooriya

Down Memory Lane: Ready to sing again

Yes, Down Memory Lane, the beloved Sing-Along concert series that first struck a chord, way back in 1997, returns for its landmark 20th edition this Saturday, 17th October, at the beautiful Bolgoda Grand Resort, Moratuwa town centre.

Having celebrated its glorious 25th anniversary with the show in 2023, this milestone 20th concert promises to be even more special.

The organisers, the ever-popular Moratuwa Arts Forum, are pulling out all the stops to present yet another unforgettable evening, brimming with camaraderie, fellowship, and pure nostalgia.

Get ready for two-and-a-half hours of non-stop singing as veteran vocalists, from the Moratuwa Arts Forum, will take the stage to lead and inspire the happy audience to sing, sing and sing to their hearts’ content.

The repertoire? Absolutely magical, according to the organisers.

Veteran Arun Dias Bandaranaike: Will handle the evening’s proceedings / Priya Peiris: Event Conceptor

Around 40 golden oldies — from timeless English vintage evergreens and hits from the 50s to the 90s, to toe-tapping calypsos, soulful American plantation melodies, rousing cowboy and Dixieland favourites, aa well as cherished Sinhala standards. All to be sung with much gusto!

This year’s dedicated organising committee comprises Brian Coorey (Chairman), Priya Peiris (Event Conceptor), Hiran Fernando, Suranga Fernando, Viranjan Perera, Hemka Fernando and Neelesh Silva. Guidance and support comes from Moratuwa Arts Forum President Sarana Guneratne and Secretary Chandani Silva.

Adding his signature charm to the evening, as Master of Ceremonies, will be the veteran Arun Dias Bandaranaike.

Don’t miss this landmark celebration of music and memories!

For further details, contact Hiran Fernando on 0772636446 or WhatsApp 0783636446.